“Hey!” Stevens cried. The whole team bristled, but he was the one who strode forward to confront the Tellarite. “You have no right to talk to her that way. She’s just lost someone very special to her. Special to all of us.”
“Then if she’s not ready to resume her duties, she should still be on leave.”
“You are so out of line!”
“I?” Tev replied in cool disbelief. “Which of us has the officer’s pins, Specialist?”
“Fabe—it’s okay.” Actually it wasn’t; Sonya was angry inside. In place of Kieran, who would’ve supported her and cheered her up and made it all better, they’d stuck her with this smug, coldhearted…But no, that was unfair to Tev. She couldn’t let herself resent him just because he wasn’t Duffy. She had to give him every chance. “Mr. Tev is expressing a valid concern. Giving me something to think about. A little bluntness is a good way to do that. I’d prefer you to do it in private in the future, Tev, but I appreciate your input.” She smiled politely, extending a hand.
Tev glared at it as though she were making a rude gesture with it. “With your leave, Commander,” he said stiffly, “we all have work to do.”
She controlled her reaction tightly. “Dismissed,” she said through clenched teeth. Damn—why does this keep getting harder?
Corsi squirmed within her antigrav suit, tugging at the collar. “Sorry if it’s a bit snug, Commander,” O’Brien said.
“It’s not that,” she replied. “Do we really need these cowls? They restrict head movement. Not good if something’s sneaking up behind us.”
“Well, without it your head would be three times heavier than normal. How easy would that be to move?”
“Point taken,” Corsi said, and concentrated on tucking a loose strand of dirty-blond hair under the cowl. She checked over the rest of her security team—Vance Hawkins, Rennan Konya, and Ellec Krotine—to make sure they were properly suited.
Noticing her gaze upon him, Hawkins approached. “You sure you want us both to go in? Chief and deputy chief? I mean, shouldn’t one of us stay behind in case…you know, if something should happen in there….”
Ahh. Like most of the crew, Hawkins was still dealing with the losses they’d suffered. It had been particularly hard on security; only three of them, including Corsi and Hawkins, had come out alive. And Corsi doubted Hawkins’s survivor’s guilt was in any way helped by the irony that, after having been the da Vinci’s resident punching bag on mission after mission, he’d come away from Galvan VI without a scratch.
“Listen, Hawkins,” she said firmly. “Just because we had a disaster last time out doesn’t make it any more or less likely to happen this time. There’s no reason to change the way we do things. We’re security—we’re always prepared for the worst, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, subdued.
“Besides—based on our track record, disasters only happen when I’m not there to stop them.” Corsi had been in a coma during the worst of it, taken down by an alien light show that didn’t even give her anything to shoot or kick at. Rationally, there was no cause to think she could’ve prevented things if she’d been conscious; but she just knew deep down that somehow she could’ve. Right—like only Hawkins is dealing with survivor’s guilt. “So I’m sure as hell not gonna sit out here twiddling my thumbs.”
“Me neither.”
“Issue settled, then.”
“Okay.” They exchanged a look of mutual approval and support. Then Hawkins sidled closer and whispered, “One other thing, though.”
“What?”
“It’s about Konya. I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but…a Betazoid in security?”
Corsi smirked. “Hawkins, he is a Betazoid,” she said in a normal tone. “Why whisper? He already knows what you think.” Hawkins blushed, throwing a sheepish look at Konya, who waved back insouciantly. “All I can tell you is, he came through training with impressive marks, and recommendations from instructors I know and trust.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything out in the field.”
“No. But we have to find out what he’s made of sometime, so why not now?”
Hawkins granted her point, then awkwardly wandered over to Rennan Konya, whose large dark eyes met his expectantly. “Look…”
“It’s all right,” said Konya. “It’s a perfectly understandable concern. Betazoids aren’t known for our combat skills. I know I have to prove myself; I don’t take it personally. Oh, and as for the other thing, don’t worry—I can only read your surface thoughts. I’m not the most powerful telepath on Betazed.”
“Then how did you know I was worried about that?”
“Because everyone is.”
“Oh.”
Corsi wondered if that made Hawkins more or less embarrassed.
“So,” her deputy chief asked, “does that mean you don’t feel people’s pain? Is that why you can be in security?”
“Oh, I feel it, all right. My cognitive reading’s average, but my empathy’s just fine.”
“Then how do you do your job?”
Konya looked at him contemplatively. “Why should causing pain and injury be necessary to preserve security?” he asked as though positing a topic for philosophical debate.
“Well…of course there’s more to security than fighting. Crowd control, paramedic stuff, investigation—I bet you’d be great at interrogation, catching liars and such.”
The lanky Betazoid shrugged. “I do okay.”
“But if someone’s coming at you and wants you dead, you have to fight back.”
“Fight, yes. But inflict pain?” Konya shifted easily into a loose fighting stance. “Come on—attack me,” he said, his tone as amiable and serene as ever.
Hawkins hesitated, so Corsi gave him a prompt. “Go on, Hawkins—I’d like to see for myself.”
“Okay.” Hawkins shrugged. “But you asked for it.”
He didn’t lunge blindly—Corsi had trained him too well. He read Konya’s stance—some kind of judo variant, it seemed to Corsi, designed to turn his own attack against him with a minimum of effort. Sensible enough, given their difference in build, but Hawkins knew how to adjust to such tactics. If the new guy wants to prove himself, Corsi thought, Hawkins will make him earn it.
Moments later, he was on the ground, with Konya extending a hand to help him up. He took the hand, rose, then tried another throw.
And found himself facedown this time, his cheek a little scraped. “Ow,” Konya said in sympathy. “Sorry, didn’t see that pebble. Better than broken ribs, though, huh?”
This time Hawkins didn’t try anything when he accepted Konya’s hand up. “How?”
“Proprioception,” Konya smiled. “The body’s sense of its own position and movement. I’ve trained myself to tune into it, into the motor cortex rather than the cerebral cortex. I can feel the way your body moves as clearly as you can. I know your every move as soon as you start to make it, so I can evade it. I can sense your weak points, your most exposed moments. So I don’t need to force my way through your resistance—I can find the attack that neutralizes you most effectively with the least damage.”
“Neat trick,” Corsi said icily. “But what if you’re twenty meters away, a Nausicaan’s about to disembowel your chief, and the only weapon you have is an antique plasma rifle that kills slow and burns like hell?”
Konya’s calm wavered for the first time, the possibility clearly disturbing him. But he faced her squarely. “I’m committed to my duty, Commander, whatever the psychic cost to myself. But isn’t good security procedure about averting such situations before they arise?”
“A nice idea in principle, but reality isn’t so tidy.”
“But if we’re too quick to assume violence is necessary, will we try hard enough to find alternatives?”
Corsi loomed over him. “You want to avert violence, then you watch that lip, mister.”
“Children!” The sharp bark came from Tev, who stood there with arms crossed, look
ing down his substantial snout at them even though they were all taller than he was. “If you’re done playing, it’s time to go.”
Corsi had her expression composed by the time she turned to face the Tellarite second officer, but Konya’s eyes widened at what she was thinking.
Chapter
3
The first thing Gomez realized when they entered the alien structure was that there were too many tall people on her team. O’Brien, Bart Faulwell, and three of the four security guards—the exception being Krotine, a wiry Boslic with golden skin and cherry-red hair beneath her gravsuit cowl—were nearly scraping their heads against the ceilings, and having to duck through doorways. “This may not have been designed by humanoids,” Abramowitz observed.
“There are short humanoid species,” O’Brien observed. “Like Ferengi, or Kaldun.”
“But the corridors and doorways are wide and arched as well,” Abramowitz went on. “And the door controls don’t seem to be shaped for a humanoid hand.”
“That makes sense, doesn’t it?” Faulwell asked. “That high-gravity dwellers would be shorter than most species?” That was one blessing—O’Brien’s gravsuits worked like a charm, making them feel they were walking in normal gravity—although the tight suits did restrict movement somewhat, and they had to keep a firmer grip on their tricorders.
“Not necessarily,” Gomez said absently. “Long limbs would give you more leverage for fighting higher gravity.”
“Sometimes,” Pattie said. “But it’s important to stay low so falls don’t hurt as much. As for the leverage, well, you don’t think all these legs are just for sex appeal, do you?”
Somehow Pattie’s joke fell flat. In fact, all their conversation was feeling a little strange, full of awkward pauses, as though everyone’s timing was off. Gomez realized what it was—everyone kept expecting to hear a patented Duffy wisecrack, and got thrown off when none came.
“You know, I think Stevens and Commander Tev were right,” O’Brien ventured as they entered a new chamber. “This doesn’t look anything like a troop carrier or any kind of military facility. There’s practically no internal security.” He looked down the length of the room, which contained several tiers of low tables facing a podium of sorts at the front. “And I’ll turn in my teaching credentials if this doesn’t look like a classroom.”
“Then where are the chairs?” Corsi asked. “All this gravity and nowhere to sit?”
“Maybe they sit on the floor, like in Japan,” Abramowitz suggested.
O’Brien grunted. “Keiko’s decorated the house with a Japanese theme. Tatami mats, low tables, the works. Looks nice and all, and the kids love having things on their level—but my back hasn’t been the same since.” He threw Gomez a long-suffering grin. “The things we do for love, eh, Commander?”
“Wha—? Oh. Sure,” she said distantly.
The grin changed to apology. “Oh…sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”
She offered an apologetic look right back. “It’s okay, Chief. You’re lucky you have someone like that.”
“Well, most of the time,” he grimaced. “Some days are better than others, and sometimes…but, well, that’s nothing next to what you must…umm…I’ll scout on ahead, if it’s all right with you, Commander.”
“Go on, Chief. Thank you.”
“Hawkins, Krotine, go with him,” Corsi ordered, coming up alongside Gomez. Once they’d gained some privacy, the taller woman asked, “Are you okay?”
Gomez frowned. “You mean, am I too distracted? Not showing enough leadership?”
Corsi bristled a bit, then reversed herself, speaking with a softness few people heard. “I mean, are you okay?”
Now it was Gomez’s turn to be embarrassed. She’d forgotten—this wasn’t just “Core-Breach” Corsi, the coldhearted, no-nonsense security chief. This was her friend Domenica, with whom she’d been through hell recently. (Come to think of it, after what had happened at Galvan VI, maybe it was time to retire that “Core-Breach” nickname—it wasn’t very funny anymore.)
“I don’t know, Domenica,” she sighed. “I mean, I’ve grieved. God, how I’ve grieved. I got it all out, I worked through it like they say, I felt better, all…cathartized and everything. Is that a word?”
“Hell if I know. Faulwell’s the linguist, not me.”
“So I got through it, came out the other end, decided, you know, it’s time to move on. Kieran’s gone. I accept the loss. It still hurts like hell, but I accept it, and it’s in the past, and what I need to do now is focus on the future. On rebuilding my life.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah, but…” She gazed up at Corsi imploringly. “I don’t know how. I look at my life, at the pieces that are left, and I don’t know how to put them together into something new. They just…don’t fit. Because there’s this one huge piece that’s missing, that’s never going to be there again. And without that piece, none of the others make sense.” She shook her head. “The strange thing is…even when Kieran was around, I wasn’t really sure how he fit into my life.”
Corsi smirked. “He wasn’t exactly a standardized component.”
“Yeah, I guess they broke the mold after they made him.”
“After? I was thinking before.”
Gomez glared…but saw a rare flash of humor and understanding in Domenica’s ice-blue eyes. She was mocking her own past disapproval of Duffy, and thus in an odd way apologizing for it. Sonya accepted the apology with a look, knowing she wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “Whatever. All I know is, as little sense as our relationship made to me, my life makes no sense without it. I just don’t know what to do next.”
Corsi mulled it over. “Well, I’ll tell you this, Commander: I’ve seen you take a meaningless jumble of parts and build them into something functional more times than I can count. Even if they were missing the most important piece, you found something that’d do the trick in its place, or a way to rearrange things so it wasn’t needed after all.”
“Yeah, but that’s engineering. This is life, and emotion, and…it’s not the same thing.”
“So I keep telling you guys. Well, except for the emotion part. We all know I don’t have any.”
“Of course not.” Gomez smiled.
“Well, maybe the thing to do is start with what’s in front of you. You’ve got a job to do. A team to lead and protect. Maybe a city or a planet to keep safe. Focus on solving their problems—maybe it’ll be a start to solving your own. At least…” She faltered, shrugged a bit. “At least it’ll distract you from your own, and sometimes that’s enough.”
Gomez looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, until Corsi fidgeted and shook her head. “Hell, I don’t know. First Stevens, now you—do I look like a counselor?”
“All right.” Gomez clasped her shoulder briefly, but her voice was businesslike. “So we have this job to do. This place to explore.”
“Yes, we do. And since you brought it up, Commander,” Corsi went on, becoming all business again, “do we have any sort of a plan, or are we wandering aimlessly? A little more leadership actually wouldn’t hurt about now.”
Gomez accepted the chastisement. “You’re right. We need to find the answers to some questions,” she went on more loudly, taking in the rest of the team. “Like, where is everybody? We’ve found plenty of sleeping quarters, cafeterias, and the like, but we haven’t seen any people.”
“They were here,” Konya said, “and not long ago.” He gestured to his tricorder. “The DNA residue’s still fresh, and there are still heat signatures in the floor, like someone was sitting or walking on it. Odds are they were here until just before the thing appeared—maybe even shortly after.”
“Well, the building was damaged in the blast,” Abramowitz said. “Maybe they evacuated.”
“To where?” Corsi asked. “Out into the caverns? They’d have been spotted.”
“Beamed out?” asked Pattie.
“
Again, to where? And how could they do it undetected? Certainly no hostile ship could’ve gotten close enough to beam them without being intercepted first.”
Gomez changed tacks. “Bart? Have you been able to get any information from their writing?”
The middle-aged linguist shook his head. “It’s hard to translate writing without some context, without knowing anything about the spoken language, the species doing the writing. I can tell you what symbols mean ‘open door’ and ‘close door,’ but extrapolating further meaning would take a lot of time, trial and error. I’ll be more help if we can meet somebody who’ll talk to us.”
Gomez sighed. So much for constructive leadership—she couldn’t accomplish much if the universe didn’t give her anything to work with. “Okay, I guess we’ll just keep looking. Maybe Scotty’s team outside will have better luck figuring this thing out.”
Blasted meetings, thought Scotty as he strode into Cemal Iskander’s mobile command center, where he’d been summoned by the director. Waste of time, the lot of them. “I’m not a spring chicken anymore, y’know! I can’t be bothered wastin’ what time I’ve got left in meetings!” He barely noticed his transition from thinking it to saying it aloud, or cared much. One advantage of being a Living Legend, and just generally an Old Cuss, was that you could get away with telling people exactly what you thought, even when they outranked you. That was a lesson he’d learned from Leonard McCoy—though come to think of it, Leonard had been just as outspoken at forty.
“I think you’ll find this a productive meeting, Scotty,” said Iskander, who sat behind a central desk filled with monitors and readouts, while Admiral Ross and Captain Gold stood nearby. “We’ve been contacted by someone with information about the alien construct. A member of a species called the Nachri. Ever heard of them?”
“Nachri…Nachri,” Scotty repeated, the aspirated “ch” fitting neatly into his brogue. “It sounds familiar.”
“Probably from history class,” Gold told him. “If I remember right, they were a little before your time—a two-bit empire the Federation ran up against in the late twenty-second century. I think Starfleet had a hand in overthrowing their government.”
Aftermath Page 3